


Absolute

by Udunie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, Curses, Dubious Consent, Fisting, Knotting, M/M, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-10-30 07:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10872165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie
Summary: “The whole knotting thing,” Stiles said, standing up to get dressed. “I told you I won’t do it a hundred times, but you have to go and ruin the mood every single time,” he bit out, frustrated, his satisfaction quickly flying out the window.He dug his shoes out from under the bed jerkily, it was never good to linger. Peter usually had his blood pressure through the roof in five minutes flat.“Hm… I wouldn’t say I ruined the mood… and, you know, you never know when you might change your mind,” Peter said, smiling that one smile that made the hair stand up on Stiles’ neck. But then again, that was just the usual, too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emmagem803](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmagem803/gifts).



> Hello everybody!
> 
> THIS IS A BIRTHDAY FIC (well, the first half of it) FOR MY LOVELY, LOVELY EMMA, WITHOUT WHOM I WOULDN'T BE HERE, WRITING KINKY STUFF FOR ALL OF YOUR ENJOYMENT!
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HON! <3 <3 <3
> 
> And my special thanks for LC, who had been a blessing with cleaning up this fic! Thank you so much!

Stiles shifted from one foot to the other as he stood in front of Peter’s door. It always felt wrong to come here, like he was giving up a bit. And with a man like Peter, giving even an inch was a seriously stupid thing to do. He had no doubt that the man already knew he was here, but the fucker always made him take the last step.

Otherwise, it would have been too easy. And Peter probably got a kick out of having him  _ ask  _ for it.

It wasn’t like he was happy to be here, okay? It was just… Peter - even being the shifty asshole that he was - was the best fuck. Peter was… he was rough and fast and did almost everything right. Not like Stiles ever told him that, god knew he had an ego too big for this town already.

Anyway. Whenever something went down in Beacon Hills leaving Stiles high on adrenaline or, in the absence of that, whenever he was feeling particularly bored with his life, he would come over to get his itches scratched.

And damn Peter if he wasn’t the best scratcher.

Stiles huffed out a breath, annoyed at himself, and banged on the door.

“Well, hello there, Stiles,” Peter said smoothly when he opened it -- suspiciously quickly, like he’d been right on the other side, listening to Stiles breathing or something equally creepy. He was only wearing a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. It would have been a lie if Stiles said he didn’t start salivating right away at the sight.

“Hey,” he said, feeling a bit awkward. It was always a bit awkward at the beginning. But just until they started fucking, then it was just natural.

“Care to come in?” Peter asked, stepping out of the way with a little bow and a smirk. Stiles wanted to punch him. Or kiss him. Probably both.

 

***

 

Stiles moaned into the pillow, uncaring of the drool soaking into it. Fuck. Fuck, Peter knew just how to push his buttons.

He was on his hands and knees -- or more like elbows and knees, since his joints decided to give out halfway -- and Peter was pounding him from behind with enough force to push a string of needy sounds out of him, no matter how much he wanted to stop them. He could feel his cock leaking between his legs, but Peter wasn’t paying it any attention. Peter never did. Not until the last moment.

“Oh, you like it, don’t you?” the man asked, fingers pressing bruises into his hips that he knew would be there for days. Peter knew he didn’t like to be marked, but it was the one of the two rules Stiles allowed him to break - in moderation.

He whined into the pillow instead of answering, jerking as Peter nailed his prostate again and sent a red-hot flare of pleasure up his spine.

“Yeah, yeah, you do.”

Peter didn’t even sound out of breath. It wasn’t fair.

Not like Stiles was complaining when Peter was capable of fucking him for hours on end, but still. Unfair.

He was so close, though. It was hard to keep a grudge.

Stiles almost thought they would be able to manage one single fucking without Peter opening his mouth and ruining it, but, naturally, he was wrong.

Peter bent over him, planting his hands beside Stiles’ head and bit the nape of his neck. It felt good, but it also told him what was coming next. Of  _ fucking  _ course.

“Want my knot, darling?”

Stiles shivered from the sound of his voice, but he knew he had to get his wits back for at least a few words.

“Nope. Not ha- _ ah _ -happening, you asshole,” he said. He had to close his eyes, the way Peter’s hips were hammering forward and rutting into him was just… perfect.

Peter growled in something between frustration and anger, but Stiles heard the sound often enough to not be afraid.

“Fine,” Peter spat, grabbing Stiles’ hips again and fucking him with enough force to knock the breath out of him.

Just the way he liked it.

 

***

 

He was still half asleep and completely spent in Peter’s bed when he felt the man trace idle patterns onto his back with the tip of one finger. It tickled. And the unusual intimacy of it kicked his brain into action.

Even with the satisfaction of a good fuck still clinging to him, Stiles couldn’t keep himself from becoming annoyed.

“Why do you always have to do that?” he asked, flopping onto his back and out of Peter’s reach.

The man raised an eyebrow, his face a disgustingly perfect mask of innocence. Stiles could see it was fake of course, everything was fake about him. God, he hated Peter when they weren’t fucking.

“The whole knotting thing,” Stiles said, standing up to get dressed. “I told you I won’t do it a hundred times, but you have to go and ruin the mood every single time,” he bit out, frustrated, his satisfaction quickly flying out the window.

He dug his shoes out from under the bed jerkily, it was never good to linger. Peter usually had his blood pressure through the roof in five minutes flat.

“Hm… I wouldn’t say _ I  _ ruined the mood… and, you know, you never know when you might change your mind,” Peter said, smiling that one smile that made the hair stand up on Stiles’ neck. But then again, that was just the usual, too.

He flipped Peter off.

“Ugh, sure. Keep dreaming,” Stiles told him, throwing his hoodie over his shoulder and already halfway to the door.

“I just might!” Peter shouted after him.

Stiles could hear him laughing all the way to the elevator.

 

***

 

He couldn’t help thinking about Peter the whole day, though. He was such a fucking annoyance, and for some reason, Stiles’ brain kept going back to how the man bit him, asking him to take his knot, like it would ever happen. Stiles has always been clear with him about the rules: no marking, no knotting. That’s it. He liked it rough, he liked it hard, but he refused to be a chew toy and, honestly, the whole knotting business freaked him out a bit.

Maybe because it was a reminder of how, well, animalistic werewolves were. Not like he didn’t know that already, mind you, but there was a great big deal of difference between someone going hairy when that time of the month came, and getting stuck together after sex like a couple of horny dogs.

 

***

 

Two days later, he was sitting in Scott’s room, trying to make him understand trig. Coach had been pretty clear about not letting Scott play come September -- co-captain or not -- if he didn’t get his head out of his ass and improve his grades.

It was going relatively well, what with Allison being on a fishing trip of all things with her dad. No reception, no internet, no nothing.

Sure, Scott considered tracking them by smell once or twice, but thankfully Stiles managed to convince him that improving his grades instead would leave a much better impression on her than stalking.

Anyway. It was going okay. He let Scott work on the problems on his own, and then they went through the solutions together and corrected things if needed.

It was slightly boring and he couldn’t help his attention wandering.

There was a pitbull living in the house opposite of Scott’s. Stiles never really liked her, she was the sort who would bark at the slightest noise. A really annoying fucking dog, also who gives the name ‘Caligula’ to a bitch?

She was out in the yard today, lazing around in the grass and as Stiles watched another dog -- some mutt, maybe a german shepherd mix -- strolled down the street, cautiously approaching her. Then there was some butt sniffing and tail wagging. Usual dog business.

Before Stiles knew what he was looking at, the mutt rounded Caligula and mounted her, his paws digging into her sides as his back bowed over her. He was bigger, and even though Caligula seemed to want to get out from under him for a few seconds, he held on and started fucking her.

Stiles watched, his mouth running dry, even though he couldn’t explain why.

It couldn’t have lasted more than two or three minutes, but damn, those few minutes looked like a rough ride. The mutt rode Caligula like it was going out of fashion; his hips snapping forward at an almost unnatural speed. 

When it was over, he hopped off her, lifting his leg and turning them ass-to-ass. They were stuck.

Stiles licked his lips, his eyes glued to the scene. It was hard to judge the emotions of animals, but he could have sworn that Caligula was enjoying the shit out of things. Her body was trembling a bit, like she had a hard time keeping still. Maybe it was painful. Probably. But she didn’t try to get away or attack the other dog.

It was the mutt that got impatient in the end, tugging a bit and trying to free his knot from Caligula. Through the open window Stiles could hear the faint sound of the bitch whining, taking a step backwards to follow her stud.

Maybe it hurt, though then again, dogs were made for this sort of thing. Or maybe Caligula just wanted to drag out the feeling of having a juicy, fat knot lodged into her…

“...iles? Stiles? Dude!”

He snapped his head back to Scott so fast that he almost pulled a muscle.

“What? Yeah, what’s up?” 

Shit, his mouth was dry and he could feel his face flushing. What the fuck was that about?

Thankfully, Scott had been his usual oblivious self and just shoved his math book at him. Stiles pulled a pillow into his lap and tried to concentrate on explaining the pythagoras theorem.

 

***

 

It was a bit like when he was little, and his mom taught him an old song about a ladybug. For weeks after, wherever Stiles looked, he saw ladybugs. On the sleeve of his shirt, sitting on flowers, made of marzipan in the window of the bakery… they were everywhere.

It felt like that, except now the thing Stiles couldn’t seem to get away from was much less innocent.

He would mind his own business, and then suddenly there was his dad, watching a nature documentary with wolves fucking on the screen, the narrator droning on about how they were just like dogs in  _ that  _ regard. He would go to the library, and the woman in front of him would drop a book about fucking wiener dogs and of course -- of fucking course -- it would open up at the page of an anatomically correct drawing of an aroused dog penis.

He just couldn’t seen to escape it.

 

***

 

With the shit luck he was having, Stiles wasn’t even surprised when Scott called him, begging for Stiles to take over helping Deaton at the clinic while he finished his summer reading list. Stiles almost said no. He should have said no.

Except he knew for a fact that Scotty boy was incredibly behind, and with Allison coming back soon, there was practically zero chance of him actually doing it at all if not now.

The one thing he didn’t need after the… awkward last week-or-so was to be in any kind of proximity of animals, but yeah. Scott plus puppy-dog eyes. Deadly combination.

And that was how Stiles found himself driving to the clinic in the afternoon, steeling himself for the worst to come. As irritating as he found Deaton, he didn’t want to fuck this up, so he would just have to suck it up and deal with things. Thankfully his first day was mostly filled with packing kibble bags and stacking empty cages, cleaning up, and learning how to disinfect equipment. Nothing too hard or too ‘risky’ but he could still feel his recent -- and uncomfortable -- obsession linger in the back of his mind.

Stiles wasn’t unfamiliar with having things stuck in his head that he had to research and learn everything about, it was a thing that happened. But that didn’t mean he wanted  _ this  _ particular thing to occupy his brain.

He almost got through his first day as a vet assistant without incident, until he was packing away some supplies that arrived late in the afternoon. There was a whole box of long, thick rubber gloves that reached almost to the shoulder.

“What are these for anyway?” he asked, not really thinking about the question.

Deaton looked up from the shipping papers he was checking things off on, and hummed under his breath.

“Oh? Those are for cow examinations, there are a few farms over the preserve where they call me sometimes.”

Stiles frowned at the things, his brain too exhausted by working through the afternoon and trying not to think about… the pink elephant, so to say.

“Like, how?”

Deaton put his papers down and walked over.

“Well, Stiles, when a cow is pregnant, or needs a rectal examination, you will have to put one of these on to reach as deep as you need to,” he explained, like it was nothing unusual.

Stiles swallowed. Oh. Oh, yeah, he should have figured that one out. 

At the same time, the doors had been thrown open, and he couldn’t help thinking about it. What… what that must be like? Having something so huge… a whole hand in you. An  _ arm _ , even. It must be painful. He couldn’t imagine anyone enjoying that. Then again, there had to be a reason why there was a whole ‘fisting’ tag on his favorite porn site.

He could feel his whole body flush as his mind ran with the idea. Was that… was that like knotting? Would that be something Peter would want to do, since he seemed so keen on sticking large things into Stiles ass?

He shook his head, throwing the box of gloves up onto the shelf where they belonged.

He had to stop thinking about all this shit. And anyway. Who the fuck cared what Peter would want to do.

 

***

 

It took him a day to give in. He tried to keep himself away from porn -- or jerking off for that matter -- until he got his brain back from his intrusive thoughts, but yeah. He was still very much a teenager with a libido to go with it.

His dad had a night shift, Scott was busy trying to catch up on his books, and that left Stiles horny and alone.

He tried his usual porn first. Just, nice, muscle-y dudes nailing decidedly not muscle-y dudes to various surfaces. But it failed to work the usual magic.

First, he went on the hunt for porn with hairier tops. That was good. That got him hard, but still left him feeling craving for something. Then he gave up and clicked on the fisting tag.

Stiles sat in front of his computer, unable to tear his gaze away from the screen and watched about two hours’ worth of videos, from the relatively vanilla -- except for the whole fisting gig -- to the downright torture dungeon ones. The fisting wasn’t even really the thing that did him in. It was how the bottoms’ faces went slack when huge things pushed into them, it was the way their holes gaped afterwards...

He was so hard that he was afraid to move, scared that even his underwear dragging against his cock would set him off.

When he ran out of the good porn, he opened a new incognito window, not even aware of what he was doing… he just. He just needed something more.

Stiles didn’t even think it would work. There was no way there were actually sites with bestiality porn on them, right? That was illegal, they would be taken down. They had to be.

There were pages and pages of it.

Stiles’ palm was sweaty on his mouse as he hovered over a thumbnail for a video of a guy and a big, black lab, feeling like he was standing on the edge of the abyss and there would be no turning back for him after this.

But he was hard, and he was desperate and so, so tired of just  _ thinking  _ about it.

Less than one minute in, he came before even having a chance to touch himself.

 

***

 

Stiles tried to act like it never even happened. He was ashamed of himself. Disgusted, even. 

But it didn’t seem to matter, because now he knew what was out there, and it kept clogging up his brain in his every waking hour.He tried valiantly not to go back again, going so far as to not even turn his computer on for a couple of days. Hopefully he would just… forget about it.

Then came the last day of his stint as Scott’s substitute.

Stiles knew something was going on, right when Deaton called him, asking if he could get in an hour early, claiming that they had a time-sensitive matter to attend to.

He had no idea what could be both time sensitive and schedulable, but fuck it. He survived almost a week, he could handle whatever this was about.

 

***

 

Deaton was waiting for him in the examination room, and he had company; a sweet looking older lady with a boxer and a… courier guy?

“Stiles, glad you could make it,” he said. “Mrs. Norris and Benji are here for a breeding.”

He almost fell on his face, but managed to catch himself on the corner of the table, hoping for all that was holy, that Deaton would just think it was his usual clumsiness.

“A breeding?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady -- with little success.

The vet nodded, taking the leash from Mrs. Norris.

“Well, almost. The bitch is in New York, actually, and this gentleman will be the one to get the semen to her,” he explained, pulling Stiles into the next room, the dog obediently walking beside them.

Oh god.

“S-so. What. What are we doing exactly?” Stiles asked, his palms sweaty and his heart beating double.

“We will have to make Benji ejaculate manually. Into one of those little containers,” Deaton said, nodding towards a small plastic jar on the table. “I don’t know how well you’re doing with dogs, so I thought it would be better if you just held him still while I did the tricky part.”

Stiles nodded vigorously. A needy, desperate part of him was dying to volunteer, begging him to just jump on his -- probably once in a lifetime -- chance to jerk off a dog, but he couldn’t. 

Deaton nodded.

“Alright, here, get to know him a bit,” he told Stiles, handing him Benji’s leash. The boxer seemed cheerful and not at all gruff, licking at Stiles’ fingers and wagging his stubby little tail.

“Hi there… Good boy,” Stiles said, swallowing hard. 

Deaton snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and knelt down beside Benji, motioning for Stiles to follow suit.

“Okay, I need you to hold him firmly but gently. He’s a well behaved dog, already knows the drill, so he won’t bite, but he might fidget.”

Stiles nodded mutely, not daring to open his mouth, too scared to find out what would come out of it. Instead he did as he was told and grabbed the dog’s collar, pulling him into an awkward half-hug. 

He closed his eyes tightly, swearing that he wouldn’t look. He wouldn’t do anything indecent. He would  _ not _ .

Still, Stiles could tell when Deaton got down to business, because Benji gave a yippy little whine and tried to move away. He didn’t try to bite, didn’t even really struggle, but just the knowledge that Deaton was touching a dog cock a foot away was enough to get Stiles dizzy.

It only took a moment or two for Benji to calm down, but he didn’t stop make snuffly noises, dancing around a bit. That was when the sound hit Stiles. It was unmistakable -- especially for a teenager, well versed in the art of self-care -- the wet noises of masturbation.

Except this time it was a human and a dog.

His nose was filled with the smell of Benji’s fur, and he felt… surrounded. There was no escaping what was happening, and it took infuriatingly little for his resolve to dissolve in it. He had to look.

When he opened his eyes his mouth turned dry right away. From his position, he could see it exactly; Benji’s hard, red cock as Deaton worked his gloved hand over it fast and tight, shining with lube. Stiles didn’t know what to think, or how to feel, but he knew that his reaction shouldn’t be a desperate wish to be there too, to touch and taste and… and…  _ take  _ that cock.

He couldn’t help it. His mind was running away with the visual, conjuring up image after image of him on his hands and knees with Benji over him, pumping him full with his cock, knotting his hole like he was a bitch ready for the taking.

Benji whined, seemingly getting close to the edge, and the sound made Stiles shudder. He was hard, his dick leaking into his underwear, twitching whenever the dog wiggled, sniffing against his neck.

“Almost there,” Deaton said evenly. For a second Stiles didn’t know who he was talking to. The vet opened the vial with his free hand and held it to the tip of Benji’s cock. And it really looked like he mistook Stiles’ wide-eyed stare for interest.

“Dogs don’t always get knots, especially during a procedure like this. But it’s always a good idea to squeeze firmly at the base,” he said. Stiles could feel a drop of sweat rolling down his back under his shirt. His cock jerked. It would soak his jeans at this pace. But Deaton continued.

“You have to make them feel like they have a nice, tight hole if you want to speed up things. In fact, it’s best to simulate the contractions of muscles around the penis.”

Shit.

Fuck, he could almost feel it, how he would squeeze down around a knot. Stiles could feel his ass clenching up just from the thought, like it couldn’t wait to try that, to have a fat cock with a nice, big knot to plug it up…

Benji came with a little whine.

Stiles turned his head into the dog’s neck and bit his lip, flushing with humiliation and hoping to god that Deaton didn’t notice him coming in his pants.

He had to do something about this.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing he did when he got home was to take a shower. A long, hot shower, trying in vain to wash the shame off of himself. He came in his pants. From just the sight of a fucking knot.

It didn’t work exactly, but he did feel a bit better -- and more level headed -- when he got out. 

Okay, time to make a game plan.

What did he usually do when he had an obsession? Because trying to ignore it obviously wasn’t working. Not with this one.

That could only mean one thing. He had to  _ indulge _ .

Stiles bit his lip as he sat down in front of his computer, booting it up a bit warily. Even the thought of… of giving in to whatever this was felt wrong, but it looked like that was his only option. But how? That was the million dollar question...

And then it turned out to be the fifty dollar question, because apparently that was the price of a medium sized knotting dildo with overnight shipping.

His whole body was shaking when he clicked on the confirmation, unable to decide if he was a wreck from nerves or anticipation. Both, most likely. Now all he had to do was wait until tomorrow, go a few rounds with his new purchase and then leave the whole embarrassing experience behind himself.

At least that was the plan.

***

Stiles felt like he was sitting on needles the next day, awkwardly waiting for his dad to leave and hoping that his package wouldn’t arrive before the sheriff was gone. That would be a conversation he didn’t particularly want to have.

He watched the TV, not even sure what he was seeing. It might have been a documentary on world war two, it might have been the food channel. He couldn’t care less. The clock was ticking too slowly on the wall.

Then his dad left and he watched some more TV, his leg bouncing on the carpet until it was annoying even to himself. Then the doorbell rang.

Stiles didn’t really remember talking to the delivery guy, or signing for the package, or even how he got back up to his room; his focus was narrowed to a pinpoint, unable to take in anything other than the possibilities the next eight hours held.

His hands were shaking as he opened the innocuous looking cardboard box. The paper felt rough against his fingers.

The dildo itself was in a smaller box, with one of those cheap, plastic windows to show it off. Stiles tore into the packaging, sweat beading on his forehead. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but at the same time, he couldn’t… he couldn’t even imagine not doing it.

When he finally had the toy between his hands he bit off a curse. It was… not very well made: feeling fake, and looking just as artificial. But. But the shape was somehow  _ right _ .

The end of it was tapered, the shaft as thick as a normal cock. Then there was the knot. Stiles could feel the saliva pooling in his mouth from just the sight of it, and he didn’t know what to do with that -- with the thought of how much he wanted it.

The knot was about as big as a baseball. It should have been intimidating, scary even, but it wasn’t. It was like a pinpoint of light after years spent in darkness. Stiles  _ needed  _ it.

He put the dildo down, shocked by his reluctance to part with it even for a second. Shit, he was going crazy.

Stiles threw his clothes off himself and dug out the half-empty bottle of lube from his nightstand. He’d been reluctant to masturbate since he… since he went on that binge the last time, but now it was over. He was in this, and fuck it if he wasn’t going to enjoy it.

He got on his back, the covers rough against his skin as his fingers searched out the dildo beside him. It was like he’d been rubbed raw, every nerve ending in his body naked and trembling in anticipation. His cock was already so hard that it hurt, and he couldn’t help measuring the toy against it. Stiles wasn’t small, but the dildo had a solid inch on him. And… and a lot of girth at the base.

For a second, his fingers stilled with doubt. Would it even fit? It would hurt, wouldn’t it? There was no way taking a knot was not painful. Was it… was it even worth it?

He shifted, the fabric under him rubbing against his back. Almost like hair. Or fur.

Stiles’ eyes fell closed and he exhaled a shuddering breath. Yeah. Yeah, he had to do it. He  _ wanted  _ to do it.

He let the dildo lie on his stomach, the rubbery material slowly warming from the heat of his body as he coated his fingers generously with lube, reaching down to open himself up.

Playing with his hole was nothing new. Hell, getting fucked was nothing new; Peter did it often enough that it should have been a piece of cake to get himself ready. Still, the knowledge of what he was about to do made things difficult; his hole kept spasming, squeezing down on his fingers whenever he thought about getting the knot inside. Like his muscles couldn’t wait to finally have something to satisfy them.

Stiles moaned as he pushed in a third finger, desperate to be ready --  _ now _ , damnit. It felt nice, good even. But not enough.

It didn’t take him long to decide that he was done with prep. Maybe he was rushing, he couldn’t tell, not with his mind clouded with anticipation.

There was a lump in his throat as he picked the dildo up, smearing it with lube carefully. Like this, with the red rubber shining wetly, it looked much more like the real thing, and he couldn’t help thinking about Benji, about all the videos he watched where people were…

Stiles shuddered, his cock spurting out a drop of precome that pooled in his navel.

Fuck.

He had to get this done before he did something stupid.

***

Stiles’ toes curled into his bedcover as he pushed the dildo deeper inside of him. Shit. Shit it felt good. Even with the drag of the rubber the shape was both unfamiliar and somehow comforting at the same time, like this was what he needed all his life.

When he reached the knot, he had to pause. He needed to breathe and calm down, because it felt like he would come the second that lovely, fat bulge started pressing against his rim.

But the waiting didn’t help. All it did was conjure up images of Benji’s knot, his long, reddened cock spurting ropes of come as it jerked in Deaton’s grip… and Peter, heavy and hot above him, biting the back of his neck. Fuck.

Stiles bit his lip and grabbed the base of the toy the best he could with his slippery fingers.

Showtime.

He couldn’t help it, his back arched off the bed the second it started to -- slowly, painfully -- inch into him. It hurt, the stretch burning deep enough to fill him up, but it was the most amazing thing he ever felt. Like he was being marked by the experience, scorched from the inside out.

He panted, his mouth open, eyes unseeing as he forced his body to move, willed his hand to push just a bit more…

When the knot finally slipped in, breaking down his last line of resistance, Stiles’ mouth opened wide with a soundless gasp. He didn’t even understand what was happening; the knot, the knot was inside him, pushing against his walls, dancing from the contractions of his body, rubbing against his prostate... 

Stiles came just like that; came so hard that he couldn’t breath from the intensity. His last memory was the feeling of his own jizz hitting him in the chin.

***

Stiles didn’t understand how he could have been such a… such an incredibly stupid asshole. How could he ever think that this could be over? That he could just fuck it out of himself and be done with it?

It had been… It’d been three days since that fucking dildo arrived, and he felt like he was in a fever dream.

That first night… that first night he fucked himself with the knot until he was crying with overstimulation and he couldn’t come anymore. And then he fucked himself some more, not stopping until his hole was a ruined mess, gaping and still… still hungry for more.

He couldn’t  _ stop _ .

The only good thing was that his stunt as Deaton’s assistant was over and there was nothing to leave the house for.

And he didn’t. Every waking moment he had with even a small amount of privacy he was fingering himself, stuffing his ass full. He felt bereft and unsettled when he didn’t have the weight of the knot inside him, pushing against his walls.

He was acting weird, and even his dad was noticing it. Stiles tried to make an extra effort to talk to him, to act like everything was normal, but even when he was sitting by the kitchen table, asking how his father’s day had been in the department, he couldn’t help shifting in his seat, searching in vain for the stretch and burn of being full.

He was going mad.

Every single day he swore he would stop. And every day, the minute his dad closed the front door he stumbled up to his bedroom, tearing his clothes off as he went. He didn’t even wait until he heard the cruiser leave, he didn’t care that he was leaving his underwear in the living room.

The only thing he cared about was getting knotted. Getting his needy, hungry hole satisfied.

And now, three days in, it was starting to be  _ not-quite-enough _ .

He needed  _ more _ .

***

Stiles was lying in his bed, the covers pulled up over his shivering body. 

The dildo was in his hole, pushed as deep as it would go, and still he felt empty. It wasn’t right somehow. As good as it made him feel the first time, by now he was acutely aware of how fundamentally wrong it was.

It wasn’t hot enough, the texture was… it wasn’t… it wasn’t real.

He turned his face into his pillow, biting the fabric as he pushed one finger, then another into his ass beside the knot. Shit. The stretch… the stretch was good. It was good but not  _ good _ . It made his belly ache with want. Stiles sniffed wetly, his hips moving in small jerks, trying to imitate the feeling of being fucked, but it didn’t work.

He squeezed his eyes together, desperately trying to imagine it being real, but all he could come up with was the memory of Benji’s warm body, or Peter’s shape -- his cock hanging low between his legs after sex.

No. No, he couldn’t think about Peter right now.

He couldn’t even… What would he  _ say _ ? Nobody could find out what he was doing, what kind of pervert he had become. Not only would he never live it down, he wasn’t sure he would survive it.

***

Maybe it would have happened differently if his father didn’t have night shift. Or if he had more self control. 

Or if Deaton didn’t forget to ask for the spare keys to the clinic back.

But like this, the temptation was just too much. He felt like the whole world was united against him, leaving him alone with his needy, twisted body and his needy, twisted wants clanking against the inside of his skull.

When his dad solved a crime, he always looked for the same three things: the motive, the means, and the opportunity. Stiles had all of those laid out in front of him in such stark precision that it felt like he had no other choice than to follow through with the crime.

He got into the jeep covered in sweat and slowly growing clammy, but his hands weren’t shaking. The dildo was still inside him, making him whine when he sat down behind the wheel. But he couldn’t take it out, the mere thought of being empty filled him with panic. 

It would do. It would do until he had the real thing.

***

The parking lot of the clinic was empty and the building dark. Stiles could have cried with relief; he couldn’t even imagine what he would have done if that wasn’t the case, now that he had made up his mind. He parked behind the building where passing patrol cars couldn’t easily spot the jeep and closed its door as quietly as he could. Just from the feel of the place he knew that the clinic was completely empty, but the night was heavy around him, demanding to be respected with silence.

He sneaked inside, lighting the way with his phone, not wanting anyone to notice the lights on. It would be okay once he was in the windowless room where the dogs were kept. 

Deaton -- as he’d learned -- often had dogs staying the night, and not just for medical reasons. Long time clients could leave their pets at the clinic if they couldn’t find a sitter for a short period of time. Other times the vet helped out when the local shelter was too full and accepted a few animals they couldn’t place for the moment.

Stiles shut the door to the kennel room behind himself, closing his eyes and just listening in the dark to the sound of dogs sniffing the air. A cat meowed demandingly. 

He swallowed through the lump in his throat and turned on the lights, blinded for a second.

When he opened them, he couldn’t help the nearly hysterical laugh bubbling out of him.

Only three of the cages were occupied. One had a beagle with a cone, one had the vocal, though scrawny cat.

And the last one had a very, very familiar german shepherd mix.

Stiles couldn’t get over how funny it was -- he could still remember seeing him fuck Caligula across the street from Scott’s house. He… he’d dreamed about this very dog. He couldn’t decide if this was the worst or the best joke his life ever played on him.

The shepherd stood up, wagging his tail as he looked at Stiles. He was a big boy with long, shaggy fur and ears that were drooping at the tip. 

Stiles licked his lips.

“Wanna come out and play?” he asked, ignoring the other animals and the way his voice broke. His focus was narrowed to that one dog, remembering the way his hips moved, how tightly his forelegs held Caligula that afternoon.

The dog whined, dancing on his feet. Stiles took a deep breath, biting off a curse as the knotting dildo shifted in his ass. It kicked him into motion and a moment later he was opening the cage. There was a piece of paper taped to the wall beside the kennel with a name.

Tucker. 

The dog seemed to be the friendly sort, and immediately tried to jump on him, tail wagging wildly. Stiles would have found it adorable in other circumstances. But now, there was a heavy weight in his belly. Heavy enough to make him want to sink to the floor and…

“Hey there, Tucker,” he said, voice echoing strangely in the room. He petted the dog’s head and got his hand licked for his effort. It was a good thing there was nobody around that he needed to hide his shiver from at the sensation.

He’d driven all the way here burning to… to satisfy the itch in himself, but now that he was here, he was suddenly unsure of what to do. 

Tucker took matters into his own… paws, though. He circled Stiles, sniffing at his clothes and then -- suddenly enough to make Stiles yelp -- nosed into his ass, jostling the dildo and sending Stiles to his knees.

It took him a second to catch his breath and realize that the dog was licking all over his face, happy that he was finally in his reach.

“Shit.”

Stiles tried to push him away, but the second his fingers tangled in all that warm fur, all he wanted to do was pull the dog closer.

_ Shit. Shit, shit, shit… _

“Just… just wait a second,” he said, out of breath and in a frenzy. He had to hurry if he wanted to do this, he had no idea if he would have the nerve if he waited any longer.

He undid his jeans with unsteady hands, pushing them down along with his underwear in one motion. Stiles hesitated for a long second, his fingers fluttering above the base of the dildo.

What if it didn’t work? What if Tucker didn’t want to do it? He couldn’t make him. He didn’t want to make him, he just… Stiles just wanted a knot. A real one. He wanted to feel it move and pulse with blood and shoot come into his hole.

The dog -- like he was reading his thoughts -- licked his face, whining. It made Stiles shudder and finally gather his courage. He pulled the dildo out, biting his lips to stifle the moan trying to break out from behind them. The dildo fell to the floor with a wet thud, dripping with lube and leaving his hole gaping and unbearably empty.

Tucker yipped, nosing at his neck even as Stiles fell to his elbows. 

“Please,” he begged, not even sure what he was asking for anymore. All he knew was that he needed…

The dog sniffed him, snout travelling down Stiles’ body until it arrived at the jut of his ass.

Stiles didn’t know what to do, how to… 

In the end, he didn’t have to worry. A second later he jerked as Tucker pushed his cold, wet nose up against the loose rim of his hole. Stiles swore under his breath. Instinctively, he parted his knees a bit, offering himself up; unashamed, for a heartbeat, of how much he needed this.

Tucker licked him, lapping at the lube dripping from his ass, making Stiles shake so hard that he was afraid that he would fall apart.

He didn’t know what did the trick. Maybe there really was something fundamentally wrong with him, something that made the dog realize that yes, this was a bitch. Ripe and ready for the taking.

Stiles bit his fist when the dog jumped on him, a warm weight heavy along his back. It felt… right. Like this was what he was made to do; his sole purpose was to be mounted and knotted and pumped full of come.

The first jab of Tucker’s cock against his crack was shocking. It was hot and slippery and everything he didn’t even dare to imagine.

“C-come on,” he growled out, when the dog couldn’t find his mark again and again. He would have reached back, if he thought he would be able to balance himself; with the way his muscles were trembling, bunched up with tension, he wasn’t sure he could.

It made him distracted. Unprepared.

When Tucker finally drove his cock into him, it left him breathless, his eyes unseeing as his hole was forced open to take that long, hot, doggy-cock.

Stiles buried his face in his hands, whining into his palms like an animal as the dog started to fuck him, uncaring of his comfort or his limits. Tucker just wanted to get off, and Stiles was barely more than the warmth of his hole.

It was bliss. 

And it was fast. Fast enough that he could already feel his ass going numb, every thrust of Tucker’s cock melting into a building, incredible pressure. Stiles was crying a bit, desperately wishing that he had enough strength to reach his cock that was slowly weeping into the underwear it was still caught in.

Tucker’s claws dug into his sides, sharp and hard even through the flannel of his shirt. He almost wished he’d gotten properly naked, so he could feel all that fur brushing up against him, rubbing along his skin.

But this was good too, it was more than good, it was… Tucker whined and shimmied a bit closer, changing the angle just a bit, but it was enough to make Stiles whine high and needy as the pointy head of the dog’s cock jammed into his prostate.

He couldn’t breathe.

His eyes were blurry as he stared at the tiles on the floor, desperately trying to focus on the grout or something, anything to stop himself from coming. He was doing good, so good, even with the pleasure slowly building in the pit of his belly.

Then he felt it. A slight bulge, barely noticeable at first at the base of Tucker’s cock.

The knot.

His stomach churned with nerves and  _ want _ . A part of him was still wanting to get away from this, to run away screaming, but the other -- the larger part of him -- felt victorious. Finally. Finally he would have it. What he always, always wanted.

Tucker kept fucking him, the drool dripping from his maw slowly soaking the back of Stiles’ shirt, making it stick to his skin clammily.

The knot was growing, and with it so did Tucker’s enthusiasm. The dog put a little extra effort behind every push of his hips, forcing his knot inside, popping it into Stiles’ hole over and over again.

It was glorious, and the fact that he had no control over it just made the pleasure all the sharper.

“Ye…  _ ah…  _ yes, yes.” He didn’t even know who he was talking to. Tucker didn’t understand, and if he did, the dog certainly didn’t care. But the words kept coming, pouring out of his mouth until the knot finally stuck and left him speechless.

He felt… full. No, no, that wasn’t right. He felt truly satisfied for the first time since he could remember.

Stiles couldn’t stop his ass from clenching down, his brain echoing with Deaton’s words from what felt like a lifetime ago.  _ You have to milk it. _

Tucker whined, dancing on his hind legs, hips still trying to force the knot deeper, even though there was nowhere deeper to go.

Stiles squeezed down on it, chasing something just out of his reach, and then he found it; if he did it just  _ right _ , it made the knot press up against his prostate, making his eyes roll back with pleasure.

That was all it took for him to come, going blind from the force of it.

Tucker started getting restless as soon as he felt Stiles’ muscles relax around him, and it only took him a second to hop off and turn them ass to ass.

Stiles shivered without the warmth along his back, leaving him cold in his sweaty clothes.

But the dog didn’t care, and every time Tucker shifted, or tugged on his cock a bit it chased shocks of belated pleasure up Stiles’s spine.

“Ah… Shit, shit, please…” 

He just… he just needed a moment, just to get his bearings… It was too much. Every nerve ending in his body was lit up, and he couldn’t help but sob with overstimulation as Tucker kept pulling, trying to free himself.

Stiles whined like he was an animal too, stuck and trapped and too weak to escape. His ass was still trying to clench down, to keep the knot in him for just a little longer, unable to let go of something it had wanted for so long.

But there was nothing he could do to stop it. The knot was already shrinking, and it didn’t take more than a moment for Tucker’s insistent tugging to unlodge it.

Stiles gasped, shivering from the feeling of hot dog-come running down his crack and dripping from his balls. His hole didn’t close, it was left open and gaping and…

“My my, this is a surprise,” Dr. Deaton said from the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles didn’t know how he got out of the clinic, it was all a blur. He might have… actually pushed Deaton to the ground in his blind panic to get out, barely managing to get his pants back up by the time he was out the door.

He slammed into the jeep -- managing to fit the key into the ignition on the first try by some miracle -- and left the lot with screeching tires. 

He didn’t stop until he was six blocks away in the worst part of town where people didn’t question cars pulled over on the side of the road.

Stiles rested his head on the wheel, his chest heaving as he tried to make sense of what had happened.

Oh god.  _ Oh god _ .

He shifted in his seat and it brought tears to his eyes. Shit. Shit his hole was still… it was still so open, oozing come and lube, slowly soaking through his pants.

Stiles felt his stomach drop when he realized that he’d left his dildo at the clinic, right on the floor. Deaton would  _ see  _ it. And -- and never mind that, he could already feel himself getting antsy, like something was missing.

He felt empty. He felt devastated.

Stiles gripped the steering wheel, his fingers spasming around it. What… what was he going to do now?

His mind was filled with cotton wool, a confusing mix of need, shame, and the tantalizing afterglow of pleasure. He wished he had more time to think about it. Even just… even just an hour to clear his head…

But before he knew he was moving he was back on the road, trying to keep to the speed limit -- just the thought of getting pulled over like this was making him want to throw up -- and headed into town.

To Peter.

***

Standing in front of Peter’s door made him flash back to his last visit. Was it only a few days ago? Or a month? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t really think. He needed…

This time -- by some miracle -- Peter didn’t make him wait, opening the door even before Stiles’ fist could make contact with it.

“Darling,” he said, the petname not unusual, even with the sarcasm missing from behind it.

Before the man could get another word out, Stiles was on him, unable to stop himself.  _ Yes _ . Yes, Peter was the solution to his problem. Peter wanted him, wanted to… he wanted to knot Stiles, and Stiles? Stiles didn’t think he had ever wanted anything more than being knotted.

“I- I…  _ H-help  _ me,” he said, hiding his face in Peter’s neck.

Thankfully, the man didn’t ask questions, didn’t make snarky comments for once in his life, but pulled him in, the door falling shut behind them with finality.

“Anything you want,” Peter said, voice barely more than a growl.

Stiles shivered from the sound, the animalistic vibration of it turning him on more than anything. His cock was already trying to harden, and his ruined, sloppy hole twitched, trying to clench down around something that wasn’t there.

Yet.

He clung to Peter, moaning deep and throaty when the man grabbed him by the ass -- uncaring of the mess soaking the fabric of his jeans -- and lifted him off his feet. Stiles linked his legs behind Peter, holding on and gasping wetly into his skin.

The man carried him to the bedroom and shredded his clothes with claws and inhuman strength. That would have been a huge no-no just a few weeks ago, but now Stiles could only feel relief and happiness at finally being naked, skin-to-skin.

Before he could blink twice he was on his back on the bed with Peter above him, the light playing along the planes of the werewolf’s body. 

Stiles couldn’t gentle his fingers as they dug into the man’s muscles like talons, but Peter didn’t mind. Whatever damage his weak, human body could do healed instantly.

“ _ Please _ ,” he repeated, unashamed of begging, his brain too full of pure, distilled want.

Peter grinned. It should have made him wary, it should have made him suspicious, but he was too far gone for that.

“Alright, darling, alright, I’m here. Tell me what you want,” Peter asked, leaning in close, running the tip of his nose over Stiles’ pulse point, making him shiver.

He knew this was madness, a part of him knew that something… something had to be so, so wrong for him to end up in this position, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop himself.

“Please, give it to me,” he said, voice somehow breathy and raspy at the same time.

Peter hummed.

“Give you what, darling? What do you need?”

Stiles bit his lips, fighting the last of the tattered remains of is inhibitions.

“The… Your… I want- I want your knot,” he stuttered out finally. 

Peter growled, deep and satisfied.

“Yeah? You want it, don’t you, darling?”

Stiles whined, his desperation growing by the second. Thankfully Peter was already moving, lining his cock up with Stiles’ ass and pushing inside with a bit more force than necessary, knocking the air out of his lungs.

Finally. Finally the hungry void in him quieted a little.

“Yeah…  _ ah _ ! Yes, more, more,  _ please _ , Peter, come on!”

“As you wish,” Peter said, hips flying into motion. The rhythm was rough and fast, just the way he needed it. He wanted it deep. He needed to be filled.

For long minutes -- long enough for him to lose track of them -- all he could do was hold on, eyes closed in bliss. His body felt overheated, oversensitive, overworked.

He loved every second of it.

His cock was hard between them, every brush of Peter’s treasure trail against him was like a shock of lightning. Too much, but not enough. He wanted to touch himself, he wanted to jerk off, now that his brain was finally quieter a bit, but he couldn’t. It didn’t feel right. He had to… he had to wait for it. Wait for…

Peter’s knot formed fast; one minute it was only a barely-there pressure against the reddened rim of his hole, and the next it was huge, forcing into him like a punch.

Stiles gasped, but Peter was right there, kissing his mouth and biting at his lips, canines a bit too sharp for comfort but somehow exactly what he needed.

“Yeah, take it, darling, take my knot like a good boy,” he growled, their breaths mingling.

Stiles’ breath hitched, eyes unseeing as he was finally -- blessedly -- full again.

“Y-yeah…”

He came the exact moment Peter’s knot stuck in him and the heat of the man’s jizz splashed into him. It was like being sucker punched, the pleasure erupting from him. He faintly thought that it was even better than when Tucker was knotting him, because this time… this time it was Peter, and Peter would… he would give it to Stiles again. And again. As many times as he wanted.

“That’s right, darling, try to squeeze down for me, hm? Show me how much you love it…”

He couldn’t say no to that. Even though he didn’t know if he could do it, not with his body still struggling to calm after his orgasm. Stiles clenched down, his back arching as it pushed his prostate against Peter’s knot, sending another wave of aftershocks up his spine.

His face was covered in tears, but he wasn’t crying.

It was just… all a bit too much.

***

After the third time -- when his hole almost felt like it was irreparably damaged, burning and ruined -- Peter took his pain. Not all of it, oh no, just enough so the man could fuck him again, just enough that he could still feel every inch.

Stiles begged for it. He begged for it, even though he was a mess. His face, his chest, his whole body was covered in beard burn from Peter insisting on rubbing himself all over Stiles. The inside of his thighs were sticky and wet from all the come -- both his own and Peter’s -- and the sheets weren’t faring better either.

He was so weak that he couldn’t move a muscle anymore, and still he begged for it. And Peter was happy to deliver, again and again.

He fell asleep like that, with Peter’s knot sitting heavy in his hole, pulsing with every new spurt of come that added to what was already sloshing around in his belly. Stiles found it comforting and he was so, so very tired.

***

He woke up slowly, his throat dry and his eyes groggy.

For the first time in what seemed like years, Stiles felt satisfied. His body was comfortable, if sticky, and the warm bulk of Peter behind him was all he needed.

The man was kissing his back, rubbing his lips between Stiles’ shoulder blades, his hand busy, with four fingers in Stiles’ hole, pumping them almost like an afterthought. He couldn’t even feel the stretch.

There was an ache down there, but it was muted enough for him to suspect werewolf powers involved, and that couldn’t be good. But that… that wasn’t the thing that bothered him. No. No, there was something rattling around in the back of his skull, something that should be important. He just had a hard time grasping it.

Peter licked at his skin, his tongue hot and wet.

Oh.

With sudden clarity, he could remember the last night he spent in this bed. Or the last morning -- when he woke to Peter tracing patterns on his back.

He’d thought -- oh, fuck, oh  _ fuck _ \-- he’d thought it was almost sweet, but it wasn’t. Oh no, it wasn’t. Because that was when this all started. This… this obsession that took over his life and stripped him off his sanity, almost like a…

A curse.

A fucking curse.

Stiles didn’t know what to do. What… what was he supposed to do now? He felt too exhausted to lift his head, not to mention doing anything more drastic. And it wasn’t like he could fight Peter even if he was at full strength. Not without mountain ash and carefully planned tricks. And he had none of those.

All he had was a fucked out body still thrumming with satisfaction and a pair of dry lips he was too weak to wet.

“You did this to me,” he said, finally. He could have played the game and acted like he didn’t know what was going on, but what was the point? He was already ruined.

Peter stilled for a second and then Stiles could feel his lips quirk against his skin.

“It took you a bit longer to figure it out than I thought, then again, you weren’t really yourself in the last couple of days, isn’t that right, darling?”

Stiles shivered when Peter twisted the fingers still lazily fucking his ass. He wished it was from repulsion. It wasn’t.

“I have to admit,” the man continued, like this was just a normal conversation, and not something that pulled the ground from under Stiles’ feet. “This wasn’t exactly how it was supposed to go.”

“W-what does that mean?”

Peter hummed.

“Well, it was only supposed to make you entertain the thought. The plan was for you to get blue balls and be back here in two days tops with a more… knot happy attitude,” he said, chuckling. “But you, my sweet, stubborn darling, had go ahead and make everything worse for yourself. The magic was supposed to dissipate after the conditions were fulfilled, but now? Well, I don’t know what kind of damage it will leave behind.”

Stiles sucked in a breath. That couldn’t be right. That couldn’t be. Because, that would mean that -- at least partly -- he did this to himself. And he wasn’t sure he could face that.

“You’re lying,” he said weakly, his eyes falling closed. There was something hypnotic in the constant, slow movement of Peter’s fingers in his hole. It felt good. Calming.

“Am I? I guess we will never know,” Peter said nonchalantly. “But really, does it matter? It doesn’t change the facts.”

Peter pulled his hand back, leaving him empty for a second, his hole cold and twitching and begging for something. Anything.

Stiles gasped at the loss, it was like physical pain. Peter laughed, pushing his fingers back and making Stiles shudder in relief, like that proved his point enough.

There was silence for a few moments. The light was filtering through the expensive drapes over Peter’s window, warm and cheery.

It was almost laughably at odds with the situation.

Peter shifted even closer, the press of his fingertips digging into the walls of Stiles’ insides and making him moan.

“I hope you’re all rested up, because I called Deaton over,” Peter whispered into his ear. 

He froze. What. No, no, no.

Peter must have realized his panic, because his pulled Stiles flush against him with his free arm.

“Hush now, darling. Where do you think I got that curse came from? Not from the internet, I can tell you that.  _ And  _ I need him to check you over, I’m afraid we went overboard a bit last night. Of course, I could take you to the ER, if you preferred that… maybe we would even run into Melissa…”

“No! No, please, nobody can…”

He was shaking again, but Peter just held him tighter, shushing him, the warmth of his body chasing Stiles’ panic away.

Right when he got his breath back the front door opened with a click.

“Ah, I think our guest has arrived,” Peter said, and Stiles could hear the smile in his voice.

“In here!” Peter called out.

Stiles closed his eyes tight when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. His brain was too overwhelmed with the knowledge that Deaton was not only in on this whole thing, but he couldn’t stop remembering the last time he saw the man.

Oh god. 

“Hello Peter,” the vet said, calm as ever. “And hello to you too, Stiles.”

Stiles was shaking a bit, but he didn’t even know from what. He couldn’t look at him. At either of them.

“Alright, can you move him so I can see the damage?” Deaton asked. Peter hummed and a second later he was pushing and pulling on Stiles body until he was on his back with the werewolf holding one of his legs up to his chest. The change in position made him hiss. God, he felt  _ ruined _ . 

Peter was talking again, even as Stiles could feel the dip of the mattress as Deaton got in place between his thighs.

“It’s alright, darling. You know I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you, right? Or well,  _ too  _ bad, I guess. Alan will make sure you’re ready to go again soon so we can finally satisfy the curse properly.”

With the last of his strength, Stiles threw one of his arms over his face, not wanting them to see him either. His whole body was buzzing with leftover pleasure and a sick sense of anticipation.

The first touch of Deaton’s cool fingers against his rim made his spine arch off the bed.

Peter laughed.

“You have such a wanton body, love. I swear, you were meant for this. Honestly, I’m pretty sure you would have ended up a knot addict, even with this little intervention… I’m just not the patient type. But then again, after all this foolishness, I imagine you will be a ‘knot whore’ so to say, for the rest of you life...”

Stiles wished he couldn’t hear him. His brain was filled with white noise as Deaton pushed three, then four fingers into his sloppy, loose hole.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Peter asked after it became apparent that he won’t get an answer from Stiles.

Deaton clucked his tongue.

“Well, I can see that you’ve did a number on him, not to mention all the things he did to himself before that…”

The reminder just made Stiles’ face burn brighter. Oh god. He fucked a dog. He fucked a dog and  _ loved  _ it.

“But I don’t see anything serious. I’ve brought a salve that should help humans heal from werewolf related injuries, and I touched it up a bit to fit the situation. I will have to rub it in really deep, though.”

Stiles licked his lips, his stomach muscles clenching. What did that mean?

Peter didn’t seem bothered. He kept holding Stiles’ leg up, but he got comfortable, stretching out on his side.

“Hear that, darling? Alan will make you as good as new. And I have a feeling you will love every second of it.”

Stiles wasn’t sure about that. He wasn’t sure at all, but then Deaton’s hand pulled pack, yanking a whine from him, and when it returned, it was covered in some cold, gooey stuff. 

“Haaa, shit,  _ ah… _ ”

It was cold. Like it had mint in it. As soon as it touched his hole it was instantly soothing. It also made his skin tingle in a way that had his spent cock jerk where it lay against the crease of his thigh.

He could practically hear Deaton smile in his assholish, enigmatic way.

“Ah, it looks like it’s working. Good. Now I just have to get it to all the places where it needs to be,” he said.

All the…?

Deaton withdraw for a second -- probably to get more of the salve -- and when his hand returned, he started fucking Stiles, forcing his fingers deeper and deeper.

It was hard to breath with the cool tingling that chased his pain away. It felt amazing. 

Right up until he realized that Deaton was tucking his thumb in along his fingers, and was trying to push his whole hand into Stiles’ hole.

“Nn… P-please…” he didn’t even know what he was asking for. His brain was confused. He should be freaked out about this, right? But his body… oh, his body was all for being filled, being soothed and stretched and  _ used _ .

Stiles free hand grasped around blindly until Peter caught it in his own.

“It’s alright, darling. It will be wonderful, I promise. All you need to do is let Alan work his magic. Having his whole fist jammed into your lovely little hole is just a bonus.”

“Y-you’re lying!”

Peter kissed the back of his hand.

“No, I’m not, but I guess you will just have to see for yourself. And after Alan’s done with you, we can get back to having fun ourselves.”

Stiles made a wounded little sound. His rim was trying to tighten up -- to keep Deaton out or to suck him in, he didn’t know -- and the pressure of the vet’s knuckles against it was making his cock leak.

“Just a bit more,” Deaton said, and then started pressing forward with unrelenting, but gentle force. It was too much. Or not enough. He wasn’t sure.

Finally, his body gave.

Stiles bit his lip so hard that it started bleeding when Alan’s hand sank into him to the wrist, smearing that cool, chilling salve all over his inner walls.

Peter was right there, licking at his mouth, swallowing his moans even as Alan started to slowly fuck him with his fist.

His whole body was tingling, his cock hard and jerking on his belly. 

“W-why?” he asked finally, maybe because he wanted to know, maybe because he just wanted to delay the pleasure building in his spine.

Peter pulled Stiles’ arm from his face and leaned in close, nosing at his temple.

“Because I’m a man of  _ absolutes _ , Stiles. I will not be satisfied with anything less, and you kept skipping away from being mine completely. And now, darling? I don’t think you will be able to exist without me. And you are going to enjoy every single second of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you liked it!
> 
> You can find me at udunie.tumblr.com


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